Gestures
by Brookebynature
Summary: Little moments in time of Spencer and Toby's gesture-filled relationship.
**A/N -** Hey guys, my first Spoby fic! I thoroughly enjoyed writing this one. The Fahrenheit 451 part is my favourite thing I think I've ever written. I hope you all enjoy - and don't forget to review at the end ;)

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Gestures

Spencer is feeling the heat. She's what can only be described as _wedged_ into an outfit made of the most God-awful material she's ever felt. It might be PVC; she doesn't even want to check the label. Toby's downstairs making use of the sports package her father pays for but never watches. He hasn't got a clue - thinks she's collecting items from her old childhood closet. It means she's still got time to chicken out, but then she remembers she's Spencer Hastings and she doesn't chicken out of anything. The air is hot and incredibly humid, fireflies dancing around the wooden windows like golden orbs, spinning and dipping and buzzing.

"Are you ready for your sponge bath?" She's trying rather hard to be seductive in case her voice needs to override the naughty nurse's outfit she's squeezed - no, _wedged_ \- herself into. Spencer knows she's not got even a hint of excess fat anywhere, but that does little to comfort her when the material (if you could even call it that) does such things with her body as it's currently doing.

Toby's face is a mixture of shock and pure delight. He switches the tv off without even looking at it, choosing instead to focus solely on appreciating the fine sight of his girlfriend making her way downstairs accompanied by a strange sort-of-squeak.

"I heard you're nursing an injury." She keeps her eyes on him and bits the insides of her mouth because she's either going to laugh or collapse from lack of dignity. " _Officer_."

She's referring to the bullet wound in his right side that he sustained a couple weeks ago after picking up what seemed like a routine burglary call.

"I'm not one to complain." He replies, a huge grin spreading over his face as she makes her way over to him. "But a sponge bath wouldn't go amiss."

"Where does it hurt?"

Her eyes are dark pools and they grow darker still when he stands up agonisingly slowly from the couch, removing his shirt. She'll never get over the sight of that body.

Ever so gently, he takes her hand and brings it towards the wound, allowing her to trace the softest of circles around the healing area of reddened skin. "Here." He inhales when her fingers begin their ascent upwards. "And…" he takes hold of her hand again to bring it to his lips. "Here."

"That area _does_ look rather sore." Spencer outlines his lips with her fingertips. And then she does something to him she's never done before - a sort of half-nibble, half-kiss along his lips so devastatingly carefully that he can't quite capture her mouth in his.

"Oh no." She tells him. "Injured parties such as yourself shouldn't over-exert. Please officer." There's a twinkle in her eye. " _Relax_."

 **X**

Toby has watched Spencer work tirelessly in that bedroom for a lot of years. He's watched her study French and history and biology ( _he even gave her a lesson in that department_ ). Now she's working after hours and he just wants her to take a break. Her eyes are red and he isn't sure she's eaten an actual meal today.

"Can I get you anything?" He asks her, and upon sensing her response, he continues, "and not coffee."

Spencer pouts. She doesn't do that often. "No then."

"You need to take a break."

"I'm fine."

"I want you to take a break."

"Well then you're going to be disappointed."

Ah, but he isn't. Toby has a plan.

He lets her continue working in peace and actually brings her a freshly-brewed mug of coffee part way through. While she's working, he doesn't bother her. Instead, he checks her calendar to find out which days are her days off. There aren't many, but to his delight, the calendar shows tomorrow for Spencer is work-free. He has to pop in to the station for an hour or so as part of a training course. Perfect.

The next morning, Toby wakes before his alarm so as not to disturb Spencer. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, wearing a ridiculous grin. He looks like an idiot. He doesn't care. Usually, she stirs when he gets up before her, but she must be exhausted because not even an eyelid flutters.

He places the note on the night stand at her side of the bed. The thought of coming home makes him grin even more. He slides the cool metal of the handcuffs around the bedpost first; that's the easy part. Next, he reaches to gently to take her hands in his. For a moment, she groans and his breath catches in his throat as he thinks his grand plan might be about to unravel. But it's ok, she's just moving a little and her new position makes it easier to slide the second part of the handcuff around her tiny wrists.

Toby heads to work with that grin wider than ever.

Spencer is cross when he returns home. Except actually, she's feigning being cross. Toby knows this because when she's legitimately mad, a vein on her forehead raises. Today there is no vein.

"I didn't want you to work." He tells her simply, his nonchalance escalating her faux-anger.

"What if there had been a fire?"

"There wasn't."

"What if I'd needed the bathroom?"

He looks at the bed. It's completely dry. "You didn't."

"What if my mom had come home?"

"She's away for another week."

"What if-"

"-What if I came home from work and you were working again?" He cuts her off. "What if you work so hard that you make yourself ill? What if I'm losing the competition between myself and your work?"

"Toby." Her voice is soft. Gentle.

"It's Officer Cavanaugh." His tone changes because he figures she's gotten the hint, and now he actually just wants to see how far he can get with this. "Consider this retribution."

"I apologise Officer."

He glares at her.

She finishes. " _Cavanaugh_."

"You may well be sorry, but you need to receive your punishment."

"My punishment?" Her eyes are wide and doe-like.

"Yes, your punishment. And believe me," Toby tells her, agonizingly slowly pulling her panties down. "You'll be begging me to stop."

 **X**

Spencer isn't a morning person. She never has been, actually, and some people find this fact strange. Toby likes that Spencer isn't a morning person. It means that on their days off together, they can lie in bed - just talking - and neither feel guilty or the pressing urge to get up and on with the day.

Toby likes breakfast. Not just a bowl of cereal or a blueberry muffin to go, but actual breakfast. French toast is his favourite. Each day that he's at work, Spencer sets her alarm to get up an extra thirty minutes early. The first week, she managed without too much protest from her body. The second week however, was a different story. Still, getting up a little (ok, a lot) earlier means that she can get to Toby's apartment from her house and cook something that will set his stomach up for the day.

This gesture hasn't gone unnoticed by Toby.

Dutifully, he stocks the refrigerator and cupboards so that essential breakfast items are present at all times. Also - dutifully again - he ensures a wide variety of fruits are sitting in the fruit bowl so that Spencer can enjoy one, or a couple, of her choice. She might cook for him each day, but she never eats it herself.

One morning, when, with sore, red eyes she smiles as him across the counter while stifling a yawn, apron protecting her formal workwear from pancake batter splashes, Toby realises he should have gotten the black box out of his top drawer sooner. He's been waiting for the perfect moment to propose. In his mind, he thinks he might have previously imagined candles and flowers, soft lighting and slow music filling the room from the record player. Now he just wants to put that ring on her finger, make her his wife in front of everyone they love, and spend the rest of his life trying to do for her what she does for him.

After he slides the ring onto her finger - it fits perfectly no less - for the first time ever, they both call in sick to work. Spencer's been crying so actually, it sounds like she does in fact have a cold. She cries more happy tears later that morning after they make love and she asks Toby what he wants to do.

He wants to stop time so that she can sleep and he can watch her and they can stay in this moment for the rest of their lives.

Toby doesn't stop time. Instead, he accidentally falls asleep for longer than he's intended and so, after watching him lie peacefully for a while, Spencer gets up to make lasagna because it's his favourite and actually, sleep or no sleep, all she wants to do is make him happy.

 **X**

Toby likes to watch Spencer when she concentrates. She wears a kind of frown, as if have some sort of internal argument with herself.

"You're always reading." He kisses just below her ear - the exact spot he knows will make her close her eyes to the words on the page and focus on his touch. "And you look incredibly sexy when you read."

They're in his apartment, both wearing sweats and loose t-shirts, though she thinks he looks decidedly better than she does. He has his hands behind his back and it's making her intrigued.

"What are you hiding?" She asks, closing the book. "Are you going to handcuff me again?"

"Well now that you mention it…" He raises an eyebrow and she kisses him softly, holding her hands out - together.

It's cold outside. The heavy heat of the summer air has been replaced by the crispness of Fall. Leaves dance their way along the streets, forming a runway of orange and gold and red on the grey tarmac. Toby has the heating turned up because he knows how much she hates the cold. It's so warm in that apartment that he can never sleep in pyjama pants these days; Spencer never complains.

"Actually," he tells her. "I made you something."

She sits up, excited like a little kid at Christmas. He loves the way her eyes laugh when she's excited. Spencer closes them without him telling her to. She expects something to be placed in her hands, but instead they simply stay empty, wavering around in mid air.

"Open."

For a moment, she's confused. And then she spots the book that she was reading only minutes earlier standing proudly between two beautifully carved wooden letters: S and T.

"Toby, they're beautiful." She fingers the wood; the delicate curve of her S and the smooth, straight line of his T.

"You can put them on the bookshelf I'll build you." He tells her. "When I sign the mortgage for our house."

" _Our house_?"

"If you like it." Toby continues, a smug smile playing on his lips because _of course_ she will.

 **X**

Spencer knows that Toby is tired. He never complains to her - or even tells her that he is - but she knows. She knows because there is a line on his forehead which didn't used to be there. She knows because he's stopped reprimanding her regarding her coffee intake; instead, he drinks at least three cups more than her a day. She knows also, because for the past three months, he's been trying to read Fahrenheit 451. He hasn't made it past the third chapter.

The idea for the gesture comes to Spencer the day she watches him put on headphones to drown out the sound of the movie she's watching. He has paperwork to finish before bed, and wouldn't dream of asking her to turn the movie off. She smiles and does anyway, lifting the headphones gently off him, pressing her lips against his.

"I'm going to bed." She tells him.

Toby smiles and strokes the back of her neck. "I'm just going to finish this."

Spencer stifles a yawn and he notices, leaning in to kiss her again. "Don't wait up."

They both know she will. She loves nothing more than to fall asleep with her head on his chest, the wedding ring on her left hand the last thing she sees as he turns off the lamp beside the bed.

"You're late tonight." She mumbles, glancing at the clock as Toby pulls his t-shirt over his head and rids himself of the jeans he wears post-work. He's trying to save enough money to renovate the rest of the house. So far, they have a kitchen, bathroom and not much else. He doesn't want her to live in a house that's unfinished. She's just happy to live somewhere that's _theirs_.

He clambers into bed and smiles at the feel of the clean sheets beneath him. Spencer's hair is fanned out across his chest. He wants to tangle his fingers in it as he buries himself inside of her. But God, he's just so tired.

Toby briefly catches sight of the book he's been trying to read for the past three months on the night stand. Spencer must have her eyes open because she asks if he'd like her to read it to him. He tells her she doesn't have to. She reaches across to pick it up, drapes a thin scarf over the lamp, and flicks it on. Their bedroom is bathed in a reddish glow and she sits up a little, propping her back with two pillows.

Her left hand weaves through his hair as she reads, her voice low and warm and comforting. He manages to listen to the first chapter; he can't remember the writing being this good. Maybe though, it's just the way she reads. Then he's asleep, her naked chest pressed against his back. She kisses him on the temple. On the jaw. On the lips. She turns the lamp off and his fingers flex involuntarily in her hair as she lays her head down on his chest, the rings on their left hands illuminated by the slither of moonlight filtering through the drapes.

Toby works through every lunchtime so that he has an extra hour each night to listen to Spencer read. It's his favourite moment of the day.

Tonight, he's in bed before her. She laughs at him and reaches to her night stand drawer for her reading glasses. They're on the final chapter and she's already picked out tomorrow's book: The Great Gatsby. He's read it before; he just wants to hear _her_ version.

She draws back the covers and removes the silk dressing gown, hanging it on the back of the new door hook he made. He finished their bedroom at the weekend.

Taking the book from his hand, she settles in against his chest. Tonight as she reads, he plays with her hair and places the softest of kisses against her temple. She's on the penultimate page when he feels her drifting off, stumbling over a couple of words as her head begins to loll into his neck. Toby takes the book from her, wrapping both arms around her chest as she sighs in contentment.

He finishes the book and places it on the night stand. He thinks she's asleep, and so reaches across ever-so-carefully to turn the lamp off, keeping her pressed against him. Softly, she whispers into the darkness.

"I'm pregnant."

 **X**

Toby marvels how, even in childbirth, his wife can remain so in control.

"I'm fine." She tells him through gritted teeth, and she carries on reading the final chapter of the parenting book Melissa had recommended she buy.

"Spence, are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital yet?"

"Don't ask me again." She tells him. He thinks she might have lost her place as the pained expression on her face seems to give way to annoyance. "We'll go when I've finished this."

"The baby might not want to wait."

"The baby _will_ wait." She stresses, turning the page. "Until I've finished this."

They make it to the hospital in time. She's broken into a sweat now but she still doesn't have a hair out of place. He offers to get her a wheelchair. She tells him, in no uncertain terms, that she will walk and he will hold her hand and he will do whatever she tells him to without questioning because she is about to push his child into the world through a hole she's not sure will work.

Toby remains quiet for the journey through the reception and into her private room.

Spencer is annoyed with the midwife. She doesn't tell Toby this, but he knows because of the way her eyes narrow in suspicion each time she enters the room with an overly-jolly "hey guys." Toby does the talking. He asks many questions about the heart rate and the possible change of medical team, should they be here longer than a few more hours when the shifts swap. Spencer focuses on her breathing and the names they've picked out.

She breaks her silence. "If it's a girl, I don't want to name her Sterling."

The midwife looks up from the chart. This annoys Spencer further.

"I'll leave you guys to it. Press the button by the bed if you need anything."

The door closes behind them. Toby looks confused and then a contraction rips through her and she has to wait a further minute and a half to explain her reasoning. She realises, mid-way through when her vision starts to blur a little with the searing pain, that her husband has a single grey hair, just above his left ear. Now she's annoyed that she hadn't noticed it earlier; she prides herself on missing nothing.

He watches the muscles in her face relax before her strokes her fingers until they unclench too. He wants to kiss her but he thinks it probably isn't the best time.

"We agreed on Sterling." Toby tells her.

"Damn it Toby!" She raises her voice and then a little squeak escapes her lips as a second contraction in the space of a few seconds grips her body like a vice. It's the first time she's betrayed how much pain she's in.

Spencer is crying. Toby's forehead is resting against hers and he realises at that moment, looking down at the baby in his arms, that he will give the two of them anything.

"She's perfect."

He doesn't like that word. He used to think he knew what it meant. And now? It simply wasn't enough to describe his daughter and his wife.

They stay like that, breathing against one another as the nurses clatter around them, tidying and cleaning and chatting but the three of them are content to remain silent. It's as if nobody else in the world exists and as far as Toby is concerned, nobody does. His life begins and ends with the two other people in his arms.

"I don't want to name her Sterling." Spencer says again. She never did finish explaining her reasoning.

"I don't want to name her Sterling either." He replies. And it's the truth. "It seems too-"

"-Hard." They finish together and Spencer smiles that smile to show off her dimples and the sheer happiness in her eyes. Toby kisses her.

"You wanted an Ivy League name." He reminds her gently, pulling his lips away but leaving his forehead resting against hers.

"I know." Now though, that idea just seems irrelevant. Their lives up until their reunion after Hanna and Caleb's failed entrapment had gone wrong, as much as they'd been full and different and exciting even, had been complicated. But now the overriding emotion she felt was pure bliss. "I just want her to be happy."

Toby can't remember a time when he's ever been as happy as he is right now. "Me too." He can't name their daughter. _Their daughter_. A grin spreads across his face just thinking about those words.

"What are you thinking?" Spencer senses his smile without even looking.

"Her name should be happy."

"And important."

He honestly thinks there isn't a name out there flawless enough. And then Spencer announces one into the air - _of course she does_ because she has the answer to everything. She's his compass and his Bible and he seriously doesn't know what his life would be if she wasn't in it.

Poppy Cavanaugh is given her middle name after Toby's mother. They don't discuss it, Spencer simply states it as a fact as the little girl - still in her father's arm no less - opens an emerald eye, watching: observing her parents quietly.

It's her biggest gesture; he couldn't love her any more if he tried.


End file.
